


Under(18)watch

by pontiffpainticus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pontiffpainticus/pseuds/pontiffpainticus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fareeha doesn't exactly need babysitting, but Jesse gets roped into the job anyhow.  He does count as an adult.  Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under(18)watch

The first thought on Jesse’s mind– one that hung on too tight to shake entirely, prodding at the back of his head like some snot-nosed kid that thought it could get away with something– was that he could use a smoke. He was going to quit. He was going to quit the first two times, too, but this time it wasn’t just Dr.Ziegler informing him of the long term health risks, it was a mix of Ana Amari staring him down and Gabriel Reyes saying a few unfortunate things about his personal hygiene. Stubborn as he could be, every man has his breaking point.

It was a lot easier to focus on something else in the heat of the moment, though. Blood pumping. Sun high. Oh sure, he was on a mission, still, but this mission was a damn sight more well behaved than he’d expected, buried in some portable tablet for the better part of an hour. Fareeha Amari often spent time in one of the Overwatch bunks. Her mother was a busy lady, didn’t get much down time, and on that day, she wasn’t the only one. As it turned out, he was the only one around to keep an eye on her.

Jesse tapped his foot. She swiped the screen once. Somewhere in the world, it was high noon, but for him, it was three o’ clock, he’d re-watched all the classic westerns he cared to see, and it would be hours before anyone came home to give the Watchpoint some semblance of life.

And he couldn’t even grab a smoke.

Fareeha heard the jingle of spurs approaching. At some later point in her life, she would look back on the distinctive sound of McCree as being kind of silly, but at a tender age of twelve, and well-acquainted with Earth’s only lunar gorilla scientist, she couldn’t quite process the absurdity. She looked up from her tablet at him.

"What’ve you been reading all this time, anyhow?" He asked, affecting a casual tone with two thumbs tucked into his belt. Youthfully innocent or not, she could tell he looked a little too scrawny for the John Wayne stance. Jesse McCree had the look of a man who had yet to grow into himself, but thought he could pretend anyhow.

"It is my history homework." She replied a little plainly.

"You been workin’ on that all this time? I thought you were somethin’ clever," he grinned. "Unless you’re tryin’a pull a fast one. ‘Scuse, miss–"

"Hey!" She pulled back defensively as the awkward cowpoke grabbed the tablet out of her hands. He had only a moment of victory before she snatched it back, albeit without offering much resistence.

"I can’t believe this. You tellin’ me that you’re telling the truth?"

"Of course I am. I like to read ahead, for class." Her cheeks were a bit pink. "And that was very rude, Mr. McCree."

"Jesse," he said, jumping onto the bunk. It lurched under his weight a bit, causing Fareeha nearly to fall off, expression visibly affronted by the way he rested his ridiculous cowboy boots right on the mattress. "Or otherwise drop the ‘Mr.’ Aint ever been a Sir or a Mister or a Monsieur, not in my life, and I ain’t about to start now."

Fareeha gave him a firm glare, before shoving her shoulder against him as hard as she could.

"Woah, girl–" he tumbled out of the bed, landing on his back on the ground. He shot a glance back up at her, as she peered over the edge of the bunk, a few feet above him. Of course she had to pick the top bunk. She loved the view from on high.

"I believe I just dropped the Mister, Mr. McCree." She looked incredibly satisfied with herself. "I watched him fall, right onto the ground."

"Y’know, I was workin’ on a theory that all kids’re rotten little devils."

"You’re not supposed to have two in a bunk! You broke the rules. I am just keeping order around here."

"By pushin’ around the only adult in the room?" He grabbed onto one of the bars and pulled himself up, fixing his hat and his belt and fixing the sternest look on her that he could manage.

"I don’t see any."

He snickered. "Alright. You got some pepper." He flicked her right on the nose. "Still spendin’ too long on those books, if you ask me–" She covered her face and glared indignantly– "but you ain’t completely hopeless."

"Studying is very important when you have goals you wish to achieve."

"Like joining up with the big kids, protecting the globe and so forth? Your mom may’ve mentioned it."

Fareeha paused. She glanced between her tablet and McCree.

"Mentioned not being too happy about it," he added. "But that don’t mean you can’t do nothin’ about it."

"How did you come to...?"

Jesse scoffed, and waved his hand dismissively. She paused, the question dying in her throat.

"Let me stop you. This ain’t a story time about how I did what. That’s bogus, anyhow. See, I got grabbed by good ol’ Gabe because of my guts, and two hunnerd pages on the history of the Omniums ain’t gonna give you guts." Undeterred, he jumped back into the bed, causing her to brace herself to keep from getting knocked off. He was grateful for the distraction, if unwilling to let that shine through too clearly. And as much as he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have gotten far if Reyes hadn’t tucked him under his wing. "Would you mind passing that tablet over? Kindly?"

"You are actually asking this time. So... just take it." She handed it over to him, folding her arms and leaning over his shoulder.

"Alright, so, this here? Never leaves this room. Just for you me’n the dirty pin-ups hidden in the lockers."

"The what now...?"

He ignored the question, pulling up an image of the group. The Overwatch group closest to the top– it was for some press junction or another. It was a good picture. Reinhardt was flexing like mad. "Look, Fareeha. Y’see these folks? Let’s say you had to go, full on, tussell with ‘em."

"That would never happen!"

"Never say never, little lady. It’s a big world out there. Could stick some corrupted nanites in your head or remote control with this lil’ cybernetic chip or such–"

"Mr. McCree."

"Alright, fine." He flicked up the image editor and placed a sticker of a red X over Ana Amari’s face. "She’s too dam– dang stubborn, anyhow." Then, after a short pause, he placed one over Reinhardt’s face, too. "And he’s too damn thick. But then you’ve got the rest."

"I... I do not see why I would have to think about this."

"It’s how I got signed up," he said with a shrug. "Whupped Gabe solid."

"You cannot be serious!"

"Deadly." He winked. He was beginning to enjoy cultivating an air of mystery and intrigue. "It’s how he taught me to think about this sorta thing, y’know. Gotta look at people– even your friends– look for weaknesses. Places where the armor ain’t so strong. And I know for a fact you watch the mission recordings all the time, so it ain’t like you don’t know what we can do... Lemme make it easier on you." He opened up the image editor, this time taking a small skull sticker. It hovered over every member of the team, before finally planting it firmly over the face of Torbjörn.

"Mr. Lindholm?" She said, skeptically.

‘Sure. Got... nanites in his brain, or somethin’. Half zombie now. That furnace pack blew up and now his beard’s on fire and his face is all burned up and he’s gone from a grump to a grim broodin’ villain-type."

"He... does not seem like the kind of person that would happen to."

"We are talkin’ about hypotheticals, Miss Amari. ‘Sides, it’s still an even fight for you two. In a month or so you’ll probably have an inch on him in height."

She gasped and punched his arm. "That is rude!"

He grinned. "Clock’s still tickin’, you know. Tell me what you know about what he can do. Then tell me how someone slick would go about keepin’ him from doing it. You ready? Go."

She stared at the skull-faced man in deep concentration. "He... knows a lot about Omnics and Omniums,"

"Just a start. Keep goin’."

"And machines in general. Assuming the forge is still working, he can– produce armor to wear. Mostly bulletproof, but, um–" She hesitated. "–It’s repurposed construction equipment. The gun he uses, too, the molten rivet gun, it’s not designed for open warfare like the pulse rifles they issue. But he can use it to spray molten slag, and that–"

"Alright, Amari. You got enough there. Tell me, how’s he going down?"

"You... you would observe his movements. Try to ambush him when he starts looking for more scrap to use up and melt down and repurpose. Or, or–"

"Or?"

"Or, well, like I said, he doesn’t have perfect aim with that rivet gun. And the sensor for the turrets he fabricates can only see so much. You’d just use the same tactics as larger omnics, the huge industrial machines, find his blind spots and–"

"Lights out." He fired off a quick finger gun. " Pow. Not bad. Not bad. Just a start, mind, since you’re gonna have to learn to hold a gun before you’re workin’ on taking down Grim Torby any day of the week. And you could stand to be a lil’ creative."

She folded her arms. "Well, I know how you fight too, Mr. McCree. You do not mean creative. You mean fighting dirty."

He shrugged. "All fighting’s dirty. Handful of dirt in the eyes gives you a second or two, and hoo boy– there’s a lot you can do in a second if you’re thinking quick enough."

"That is dishonorable!"

"So’s getting your hide tanned."

"No, I mean– it is not right." She said, more firmly.

"You wanna be a part of Overwatch, don’t you?"

She nodded.

"You’re good, you’re loyal, you’re willin’ to do the work?"

She nodded again.

"Well, that’s only the half of it. The rest’s out there on the battlefield.’ He closed the image on the tablet, handing it back over to her. "...Hey." He jumped off the bed. "Grab on my back. Wanna show you somethin’."

* * *

Fareeha clung to his back as he clambered over supplies and military equipment. He was strong and nimble for someone who hadn’t really come into his own just yet, and even with the added weight hanging onto his back, he could at least keep the pace– though his panting was only growing heavier and heavier. Gabe was probably smugly elbowing him in the ribs about being out of breath, maybe making a few snide cracks about his habits. It was a clumsy ascent, but soon he hoisted the two of them up onto the jet docked in their cluttered hangar.

"Figured," he wheezed. "That you’d like the view up here, y’know. Heard you really take to the sky." His face was beet red.

"Mr. McCree," she said. "You look like you are dying."

"Yeah," he placed her up near the cockpit. "I got that sort of a face." Another wheeze.

"But you are right. I do like it here. Even if it is very dangerous. Do you think I could pilot one of these, someday?"

"If that’s what you’re into," He sat up, bracing himself on the cold metal and keeping a close eye on her. "Look, kiddo. I’m pretty new to this. To this whole– fightin’ on the side of the angels thing."

She looked at him with wide eyes.

"One thing that gets you real clear-headed is when you realize that there ain’t all that many angels to go around. Place looks huge from the ground, but from up here–"

"It’s not very full," she said, slumping into a seating position. She frowned.

"You’re a smart girl." He said. "I ain’t saying what’s wrong is right, but we don’t need one less of you in the world, if you catch my meaning."

"Jesse?"

"Wo-hoh. No mister-this?"

"No, no. I would not drop you from this high up. You’d break something."

"My spine, I reckon."

"Oh, that too. But there’s lots of equipment down there." She smiled innocently.

"You were fixin’ towards making a point, weren’t you?"

"Oh, yes. I know you are busy, but my mom... does not always have enough time for self-defense training. I have been missing a few weeks of training. And! I am not saying that I agree with you. But I think I would like it... if you could show me what you know."

He had to keep back a grin. It was hard.

"Well. I ain’t making any promises. I’m a busy man, y’know. But... yeah. Maybe I could squeeze in some time."

She sighed, quiet and pensive. "I would like to fight on the side of the angels too, someday."

"Yeah," he said, hooking his thumbs into his belt again, leaning back, "you've got a better shot than I ever did, kid."


End file.
